


A Very Nice Reminder

by vyris



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Nightmare, Team Sassy Science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyris/pseuds/vyris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Beverly Katz's death, Brian Zeller's grief is haunting him day and night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Nice Reminder

Fragments of conversation and echoes of laughter from months ago still hung in the air like a sweet fragrance he breathed in through his nostrils. The atmosphere of the bar was teeming with memories; well of course, it was their favorite bar after all. There was something off, however; it was oddly quiet and peaceful. There were people there, most seated at the booths and tables in the center of the room, leaving the bar table all to the two of them. The others’ chatter seemed to be set on a low volume, a mere humming in the background, almost as if they weren’t there at all. Almost as if it was just he and she in the whole room.

His gaze traveled back to Beverly’s, her glimmering brown robin eyes crinkling as he spoke, “And then when we actually cut open the girl’s chest cavity… out flew a fucking _bird!_ ” Her mouth fell open and stretched into a baffled grin as laughter poured from it, her brows knitting above amused eyes. Brian tried unsuccessfully to suppress his own laughing as he went on, “And, oh my god, we were so freaked out. Like we’ve all seen a lot of shit, but that tops the charts. You should have seen Jimmy’s face. He looked like he was about to faint, I swear to god.”

“But he loves birds though!” exclaimed Beverly, shaking her head with a confused smile. “I’d think he’d be excited.”

“You think he would be! But no, he had to sit down after that. I mean, we all did, that was pretty fucking traumatizing. But he was going on about how that nearly gave him a heart attack and that he’s getting too old for this job. And I was like ‘no retirement is gonna kill you, buddy.’”

“You guys are a bunch of wimps,” said Beverly with a scoff before taking a sip of her Long Island iced tea. “I would’ve been laughing my ass off the whole time. That’s awesome.”

“Wouldn’t take much to laugh that tiny ass off, just saying.” Beverly scowled and smacked the arm of a snickering Brian, snapping, “Oh, fuck you! Don’t think I never caught you staring at it.” He shrugged and said, “Guilty as charged. Lock me up and throw away the key.”

“Nah, you’re too vanilla for that stuff.”

“You know me too well.”

“I know, it’s awful.”

Brian snorted and sipped his rum and coke, keeping his adoring eyes on his friend. It was just like old times. She was glowing in the dim light of the bar, just like she always did. It often attracted glances and advances, which Brian would always not-so-politely fend off. They would pretend to be together as to ward off people, but they were never like that. Somehow, to Brian, they felt more than that. No romance he’s had with any woman could hold a candle to the closeness and comfort of his relationship with Beverly. And this time, there were no such interruptions from other people. It was just he and she in the whole world.

Beverly noticed his stare and furrowed her brows at him, asking, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Looking at you like what?” he replied, batting his eyes and smirking.

“Like I’m some bitch who gave you the best lay of your life.”

“Well…” said Brian as his brows rose and Beverly lifted her finger and silenced him with, “Don’t even.” Chuckling, he tore his gaze from her and focused it on his glass as he rotated it on the bar table. “Nothing, it’s just… I miss this. I miss us.” His eyes met hers again. “I miss you.” Her face tilted and her lips pursed in a frown before she shook her head, saying. “Don’t do this, Zee.” He sighed and she gave his shoulder a gentle push. “C’mon, this is supposed to be a happy dream. Don’t go making it sad.”

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his fingers over them, feeling them already beginning to sting. She made it sound so easy, just like with everything. She was so much stronger than he was, and he knew it. It was why he had always clung to her during struggling times while she was alive. She was his rock. She could assuage him, get him back on his feet, and call him out on his bullshit unlike anyone else. He did his best to return the favor, but there was no way to know if there was something wrong with her—but she would tell him if he asked. Still, she never allowed anyone to carry her weight; she bore it herself, as well as his if need be.

“I know,” he murmured, lowering his hand and sighing again. “It’s not easy.”

“It’ll get easier with time,” she said softly and laid her hand on his arm over the table. “Trust me.”

“I do, I do trust you.” His throat was beginning to tighten; it was getting harder to speak. “It’s been a month… and you’re still the last thought that crosses my mind before I fall asleep. _If_ I fall asleep.”

“That will eventually stop.” Brian stared hard at the floor, twisting his mouth in a taut scowl. At one time, it wouldn’t take much for him to be comforted, especially when it was Beverly doing it. But this wasn’t like any other time. This time he didn’t want to be comforted.

“What if I don’t want it to stop?” he asked in a low tone and Beverly frowned. He looked back up at her with a pained expression, his voice beginning to tremble as he whispered, “I let this happen to you… I should feel guilty about it.” He nodded slowly, a broken smile stretching over his lips. “I deserve to feel like this.” Beverly’s fingers tightened around his arm and she shook her head, raising her voice as she said, “No, Brian, no you don’t. You’re not responsible for what I did. You don’t deserve to feel this way.”

“ _Well someone should!_ ” His fist slammed on the bar table and Beverly lifted her hand from him. He sounded like an animal in pain—unlike himself. Beverly stared at him solemnly as he went on, “And it isn’t gonna be the _fucking Ripper_ , that’s for sure. But I let you leave the BAU that night…I knew something was up, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. And I am…” He cut himself off, drawing in a shuddering breath. “… so sorry.” He shielded his burning eyes with his hand as his upper body shook, trying as best he could to repress the sobs rising in his throat.

Beverly rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze, sorrow filling her eyes as she watched Brian cry. She had nothing she could say to combat how Brian felt—because Brian had nothing either. She wasn’t the real Beverly after all; she was merely a projection of Brian’s thoughts and memories of her. The real Beverly was in a casket buried underground in the town’s cemetery.

“And I know I’m not responsible for your actions,” he murmured in the midst of his sniffling, “but the fact that I could’ve done something— _should’ve_ done something—to stop this…and didn’t… just kills me.” His hand rubbed over his forehead and pushed into his hair, gripping it tightly and shutting his eyes.

Giving a soft sigh, Beverly pulled her hand from her friend and said, “I don’t want you tearing yourself up over this, Brian. What’s done is done and you’re helping no one by blaming yourself. I can’t pick you up anymore, Brian. You have to do it on your own.”

“But I _can’t_ ,” he whispered, finally looking at her. The blue of his irises was vibrant against the redness in the whites of his eyes. “I’m not strong enough. I need you, Bev.” Beverly stood up from the bar table, looking at her friend with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Brian. I have to go.” His expression went from mournful to dismayed and he sat up, pleading, “No, Bev, _please_ … don’t leave me again. I _need_ you.”

She shook her head slowly. “I can’t stay, you know I can’t. And neither can you.”

“ _Why not?_ ” he cried with clenched teeth and fists, hot tears running down his cheeks. “Why can’t we just stay here? Just you and me. No one else.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she turned away from her friend. Brian reached out and touched the back of her right arm, then a thundering crack sounded in the room, shaking him from his seat and sending him tumbling onto the floor. He lifted his head to Beverly and saw passed her no longer the surrounding of the bar—but rather the observatory. The giant light blue telescope towered over them, shadows cascading over the rest of the circular room. Beverly was still facing away from him, still as a statue, yet still glowing like a firelight in the dark.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” he spoke in just above a whisper, his voice weak but steady. “Why didn’t you let us help you? Why didn’t you…tell me anything?”

All was silent for a few moments aside from Brian’s uneven breathing until Beverly’s head turned to face him, the dull scraping sound of stone against stone filling his ears. Cracks crawled across her now porcelain cheek like a growing spider.

“ _I knew…_ ” she began, her voice like an echo in a cave, unlike herself, “ _… you would never have listened._ ”

A sickening knot of guilt twisted in Brian’s gut, knowing as well as she did that it was true. He wouldn’t have listened, he wouldn’t have believed her—because that’s the awful friend and person he was… and is.

Beverly’s robin eyes were now black and hollow, closing as the tiny cracks stretched over the entirety of her face. A jagged piece of her forehead pushed out of the cracks and dropped to the ground, shattering into a dozen stone fragments. More pieces of her face began to fall, sprinkling the linoleum floor with marble and powder.

“Bev,” choked out Brian as he reached out and touched her leg, causing it to break at the knee and fall into the ground. The rest of her followed, the other leg, her arms, torso, and head, all collapsing to the floor in a heap of rock shards and dust, suffocating Brian, making him cough and gag, and filling his mouth with the taste of dirt and blood.

A sharp intake of clean air and his eyes opened to the white ceiling of his bedroom. He stared at it for a long time, unblinking, until his breathing slowed to an even pace. Closing his eyes finally, he pressed his fingers to them to find they were wet. He pulled them from his face and stared at the tears on his hand with a frown. Why would he be crying during his sleep? With a sigh, Zeller sat up in his bed and looked over at his clock, reading a quarter to seven on it. Another early start for him. It was happening more often than not in the past month. Go to bed late, wake up early. He had grown accustomed to functioning regularly on five to six hours of sleep, though he would take a brief nap during the afternoon if he had the chance—or medicate himself with caffeine when he didn’t.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Zeller sat there, staring forward, waiting to pull himself from the bed like he did every morning—but this time he didn’t. He sat there, an unidentifiable sense of dread settling over him; it told him that today wasn’t a good day, that he should go back under the covers, and wait for it to be over. He’d had that feeling before, often a few weeks ago, but he hadn’t since. It was immediate and pervasive, but he shook it off and got out of bed regardless. The feeling would go away eventually.

He went out of his room and began his morning routine: taking a shower, brushing his teeth, trimming his beard, combing his hair, et cetera, et cetera. He went into kitchen and opened the cupboard above the dishwasher, then slammed his hand on the edge of it with a curse. He was out of instant coffee; he’d forgotten to pick some up at the convenience store yesterday. Just as he keeps forgetting to stop by Target to buy a new coffee pot to replace the one that’s been sitting broken on the counter for two weeks. Today was definitely not going to be a good day.

Sighing, he took out a glass and pulled out a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. The heavy dread still hung over him; it was like a cloud and he couldn’t push it away. He had no idea what the source of it was. It was very inconvenient. He really had no time to feel this way. As he was pouring his glass, he blinked and focused on the bottle of Bacardi in his hand, frowning. That wasn’t a carton of orange juice.

"Staring early, are we?” he asked himself. That was weird. Zeller never talked to himself. Setting down the rum, he stared at the translucent liquid in his glass before picking it up and taking a sip.

                  _I knew you would never have listened._

The memory swept over him in an overwhelming wave of terror, freezing him in place as the images and the words of the dream filled his head, making his chest swell painfully, his throat closing, his eyes burning. He could hardly breathe, as if an invisible hand was clutching his throat. The glass slid under his fingers until it slipped from them completely, shattering over the linoleum tiles in a piercing crash. Just like she did.

He felt sick, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. The poison was all in his head and no amount vomiting would ever rid him of it—of the **guilt**. He would never escape it, not even in his sleep.

He stood there for a good while, silent and still, feeling the cool rum seep under his bare feet. Slowly, he turned around and walked back into his room, then got dressed. His face was blank, he felt in a daze, as if he was still dreaming. He hoped that he wasn’t. After slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He would arrive at the BAU early this morning. He couldn’t be alone with himself, with his thoughts. He wouldn’t speak of this to anyone, not to Price, not to Jack. He would ignore it, or try to, and be unsuccessful. He would clean up the rum and glass on the kitchen floor when he got home later that evening.

**Author's Note:**

> "Yes, you are my love, the Astronaut  
> Crashing in the name of Science  
> Just my luck they found your upper half  
> It's a very nice reminder"  
> \- Amanda Palmer, "Astronaut"


End file.
